


The Prologue

by SeptemberEndings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Basically fluff and some angst and a lot of marauders friendship, Canon Rewrite at the End because it WILL NOT end like that, F/M, Gen, I love Sirius and Remus WAYYY too much, M/M, Marauders, marauders-era at hogwarts, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptemberEndings/pseuds/SeptemberEndings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus throws his head onto the table. "This is going to be a horrible seven years," James hears him mutter.</p><p>He takes that as a win.</p><p>*Marauders-Era at Hogwarts, beginning with their first year, mainly because I need this in my life so I kind of just created it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year 1: Remus

It's ten fifty-seven. Remus is already in a train compartment, arms wrapped tightly around a thick stack of textbooks.

He can see his mother and father from the streaked window. His mother's waving a neon pink handkerchief in the air like a flag. His father has his hands clasped in front of him, a small smile playing at his lips. His mother's eyes are sparkling with not-quite tears. His father's posture is tall and stiff, his chest puffed out a bit too much.

They both look proud. Too proud. Remus swallows hard, and makes his mouth twist into a smile. He pops open the dirty window and sets his textbooks aside for a moment. He waves at his parents, pretending to be cheerful so they wouldn't worry.

It works. His mother waves her handkerchief faster, flapping it around manically, which causes Remus to stifle a laugh. His father winks at him. Even from here, Remus can see his father's knuckles strained white. Remus can see his father's eyes tighten up the slightest bit, as if he were squinting into the sun. He swallows hard again.

He hears a loud creak, and the train lurches into motion. Remus keeps waving, and his parents drift away from him, slow at first, then faster and faster and faster.

His mother starts walking forward, still snapping her obnoxious handkerchief at him. Her eyes are still watery, still bright, and they start spilling over with tears. 

Her words get carried away by the wind from the train, but Remus can still see her mouth puckered around her words.  _"I love you, be safe!"_

Remus nods and keeps waving until he can't see his mother or father anymore. He keeps waving until the station is long, long out of sight, and then sits back down, something heavy weighing in his chest.

He keeps the window open, a soft roar sweeping through the otherwise silent compartment.

***

Remus pages through his textbooks, ignoring the children milling about outside of his compartment.

A lot of them are first-years, just like him. A few shoot hopeful glances at him through the glass walls of his compartment.

Remus stubbornly keeps the compartment doors closed and sifts through his books. None of them would want to be friends with him, anyway. Certainly not if they discovered his secret.

Remus sighs, and shuts his book closed with a thump. The stupid heavy thing was still weighing in his chest, making him feel both hollow and too full at the same time. Remus bites as his lip and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bar of chocolate.

He can hear his mother's voice in his head, bouncing around and echoing:  _Chocolate will always make you feel better, pup. Eat up!_

She'd given him three bars of chocolate before he'd gotten on the train, behind his father's back. With a wink, she'd put it in Remus's jacket, saying,  _He might not approve, but he's always a grump anyway. I love you, I love you, I love you._

Remus sucks in his cheek and glances out the window. It had already smoothed out from the gray blocks of London to rolling, sweet green hills.

Remus reaches up and tugs the window back into place, cutting off the background noise of air. He wonders if it's too late to ask the conductor to go back to the train station.

He takes a look at the candy bar sitting in his lap, and sighs. He stuffs it back into his coat pocket for later.

 

It's an hour or so later, and the train is still chugging on, seemingly without intention of stopping. Remus is right in the middle of a particularly interesting passage on the architecture of Hogwarts, when all a sudden a soft, dull bang comes from the glass wall of his compartment. Remus bites his lip and looks up.

A small, plump boy is standing there, fist raised as if he was about to knock again. Remus stares at him.

The boy knocks on the glass, his small mouth set in something meant to resemble a friendly grin. It comes out more like a grimace, in Remus's opinion.

Remus considers his options. He  _could_ be rude and go back to his books--and he sorely wants to, but that  _would_ be mean, and that's the last thing Remus wants to be. But the other option would be to let him  _in,_ which isn't exactly what Remus wants either. 

The boy's eyes narrow. He raises his hand to knock again.

Remus sighs, snaps his book closed, and gets up to open the compartment door.

"Thanks," is the first thing the boy says, walking in and plopping down into the seat across from Remus almost immediately. His voice sounds high and squeaky, like a mouse, and it grates on Remus's nerves. "I tried to sit in another compartment, but the boy just glared at me the whole time. It's okay, I guess. I didn't want to be friends with him anyway. His hair was too greasy."

Remus gives the boy a polite nod before grabbing one of his textbooks and flipping open to a random page. 

"Anyway," the boy continues, "My name's Peter Pettigrew. What's yours?"

Remus works his jaw back and forth, still feigning interest in his book. (It was on the history of Magical vs. Muggle stones. Remus was lucky he was an okay actor.) "Remus Lupin," Remus mutters at last.

Peter gives him a wide, sneaky grin, which makes Peter's nose seem even more pointed than it had been. Remus is reminded of a rat. "Well, Remus, which house do you want to get into?"

Remus licks his lips, and reads a paragraph on toadstools three times over before responding. "I don't mind any house."

Peter's eyes widen almost comically. "Not even Hufflepuff or worse,  _Slytherin_?" Peter sounds _scandalized_.

Remus's eyes narrow, and he dog-ears his page before closing his book. He stares at Peter, whose shallow blue eyes still look alarmed. His mousy brown hair hangs in clumps around his oily skin. Remus wrinkles his nose without meaning to. "What's wrong with Slytherin or Hufflepuff?" Remus asks quietly.

"'s just... _gross._ Both houses are terrible," Peter says. His double chin wobbles as he talks.

"No, both houses stand for worthy traits," Remus says, even softer than before. "I'm glad to have made it to Hogwarts at all. Any house I get sorted into, I'll be proud of."

"But..." Peter says, "Slytherin's produced  _dark wizards._ Really dark."

"Just because Slytherin has produced dark wizards doesn't mean the house is dark. Other lovely wizards have come out of Slytherin, too," Remus says. "Slytherins have the potential for true greatness. And that greatness can either come as light magic or dark magic, but the power is still there."

Peter's eyebrows are pinched together, and his buck teeth poke out of his closed lips. "I just think it's a terrible house," Peter mutters. "I want Gryffindor."

Remus says nothing. He reopens his book, reads the paragraph on toadstools again, and ignores Peter.

***

It's early in the night when the train comes to a gentle, rolling stop.

The sky is a dark blue that's still fading from twilight, and the stars are slowly pushing their way through the clouds. Remus grips at his too-long robes, silently thanking every entity he can think of that tonight  _wasn't_ a full moon.

Peter eyes him from the side, and Remus almost wants to dare him to make fun of Remus's shabby, hand-me-down robes. It's obvious, already, that Remus isn't from a rich family, and it seems like the type of thing that Peter judge him for.

Instead, Peter offers him a tight, small smile. "I noticed you've already started reading our textbooks," Peter says carefully. "That's smart of you."

Remus stares at Peter, in his brand new robes and rotund body. It seems as though his hairline is already receding, due to his godawful haircut. Remus gives him a smile in return. "Thank you," Remus says, and he thinks that he means it for once.

The train's whistle blows, loud and higher-pitched than Peter's voice. "I think that's our cue to go," Remus says.

Peter nods. "Hey, um...would you mind sticking by me? Just...I don't know anyone else," Peter says. He looks like he's close to blushing.

Remus smiles at him. "Of course," he says, even though he thinks this is a bad move. Not for Remus, for Peter. 

After all, Remus had strange scars all over his face and ragged, threadbare robes. The only thing on him that's new is his wand, and his father had to take out a loan for that. Remus was already considered an oddball, and it would only draw attention to Peter if he hung around Remus. Still, Peter gave him that small, bucktoothed smile, and Remus knew--this boy had never had had any friends. The least Remus could do was try and be one.

The train whistle screams again, and students are flowing out from all directions. "C'mon," Remus says, and grabs Peter by the shoulder, guiding him out of the compartment. He follows the kids out into the night.

 

The platform smells like steam and smoke, and black robes envelop Remus's vision. The only things he really registers are loud, laughing voices, and the night breeze rippling through the platform. Peter moves closer to Remus, shivering.

"Where are we supposed to go?" Peter asks, which is really closer to a whimper than a question.

Remus opens his mouth-- _I don't know, let's ask, how about we wander around until someone takes pity on us??--_ when he hears, "FIRS' YEARS! FIRS' YEARS, O'ER HERE!"

"I'm assuming over there," Remus says, and follows the gruff voice. Peter holds onto Remus's robes as Remus weaves through the mess of Hogwarts students.

He gets to a clearer section of the platform, and pauses, looking around. "Do you see anything?" he asks Peter.

Peter's about to respond when Remus hears from behind him, "Firs' year? You two firs' years?"

Remus nearly jumps out of his skin, and whirls around.

Standing in front of him is the most massive man Remus had ever seen. At least twice as tall as Remus's father, the man towers over Remus and the even tinier Peter. His thick, wild beard and hair made Remus gulp. The man looked almost _murderous_ , especially against the backdrop of cloudy, black night sky.

That is, until he smiles, wide and big and kind, and whips out a giant, pink umbrella. "So yeh are firs' years!" the man says cheerfully, and puts a hand the size of a small boulder on Remus's shoulder. "Follow me!"

Remus just nods and the giant man takes off, making him and Peter sprint to keep up with his almost monstrous stride. Every step the man took matched six running steps of Remus's.

The man (who _must_ be a half-giant or  _something_ ) takes Remus and Peter to a large group of children, all grouped together and chattering to each other.

The massive man smiles at Remus and Peter again before tapping his ridiculous pink umbrella against the ground. "So, is that all of yeh?" he asks to no one in particular. "Alrigh', of ter the boats then!"

The man takes off, causing the lot of first-years to stumble after him, at varying paces. Remus grabs Peter's robes, so neither of them would get separated from each other. He pushes himself right into the middle of the pack.

The man leads them down a narrow, steep path. In the darkening light, only his pink umbrella is visible. It's as bright and neon as his mother's handkerchief had been this morning.

Remus's heart pangs, and his stomach begins to hurt again.  _This morning..._ had it only been this morning? It seemed days away, weeks maybe. He could already feel longing,  _wanting_ to go back creeping through his veins, poisoning his heart. Remus's head pounds with the words of his father, worried and hushed: _"Maybe we shouldn't let him go, he could hurt someone, Hope. I'm just so worried..."_

It had been a few days before, and Remus's trunk had already been packed and unpacked three times. It was a snippet of only one of _many_ midnight conversations that had taken place ever since that damned letter. Remus wasn't supposed to see the wavering confidence of either of his parents. He wasn't meant to see the stack of letters from Hogwarts entailing detailed plans about what to do with Remus. He'd only heard that particular remark from his father through patient waiting, his ear pressed hard up against the doorjamb. Still, it unnerved him--if his parents didn't think he should go, then why was he going? He'd rather stay at home, with his parents, rather than out where he could hurt someone. It seemed as though everyone in this weird, stupid situation was full to the brim with terror.

And the terror was justified. It was gripping at Remus right now, making his steps stiff and small.  His eyes shoot around, taking in all of his surroundings quickly, too quickly. Remus scratches at the long scars across his face with angry fingers.

_It'snotafullmooncalmdowncalmdownyou'llbeokaybreathebreathebreathe. Think. Think of Mum and Dad._

"Are you alright, mate?" A voice asks from his right.

Remus nods before he even turns to the voice, and once he sees the boy, he flinches without even meaning to.

He's got porcelain, milky skin, and piercing charcoal eyes. The boy's black, flowing hair is messy and careless and  _beautiful_.

All traits that were marks of the Blacks.

Despite having grown up in a small, shabby village, Remus is fully aware of the Blacks and what they do. Aristocratic grace, elegant stride, and prejudiced in every single way. All the Blacks seemed to have some level of priority in the Ministry of Magic, and, even though there is no real proof, were said to be _deeply_ involved in dark magic.

The Blacks, also, are some of the leading voices in anti-werewolf legislation.

 

The boy is still staring at Remus with his gray, gray eyes. Remus swallows. "Fine," he says, and he's unsure if the boy can hear him.

The boy stares at him, and Remus isn't sure, but he thinks it's almost... _sad._ Disappointed, perhaps. Remus isn't exactly looking at him. They're still moving down the path, but he can see the boy open and close his mouth a few times, as if he wants to say something.

Thankfully, the group stops before the boy (the  _Black_ ) can say something again.

"Alrigh', no more'n four to a boat," The man announces. Remus looks around, and is surprised to find that they're at the edge of a large, inky lake. Small wooden boats all sit on the shore in front of them, the lake lapping at the ends of them.

Peter tugs on Remus's robes, and Remus immediately follows Peter as he leads them to one of the boats near the end of the shore. He pretends that he's not relieved when that boy from the Black family doesn't follow them.

They end up with another boy with an impish face who introduces himself as Frank Longbottom, and a boy with dark skin named Mark Braedon. 

"All of yeh in a boat? Alrigh', off we go!" The man, who was so large he'd had to get his own boat, taps the side of it with his humongous pink umbrella. With heavy groan, the small boat manages to kick itself off shore and into the dark lake water.

 Remus feels his own boat push off into the lake, and sees all the others do the same. Five boats over, Remus sees the Black boy sitting with another dark-haired boy, a boy with greasy hair, and a girl with red hair. She grips onto the greasy-haired boy, an awed expression on her face. _  
_

The Black boy turns his head and almost catches Remus's gaze. Remus turns away quickly.

The boats skim the water as they glide through it, making no noise at all. Remus takes a deep breath, watching the boats float through the water. It was almost eerie, how quiet everything was. Any chatter between the first years dropped, and apprehension and excitement hung heavy and thick in the air.

The boats take a gentle turn, guiding them into a large, echoing tunnel lit by torches every few meters. Remus sucks in another breath; they  _must_ be getting close now.

As if he could read Remus's mind, the Pink Umbrella Man shouts, "Alrigh'! Soon we'll be gettin' our firs' view o' Hogwarts, so hold on!"

"It's an honest-to-god castle," Frank says to the other three occupants in the boat. "I heard there's portraits everywhere, and they talk to each other. And make first-years get lost. I hope that doesn't happen to me."

Mark nods hard in agreement. "And there's moving staircases that purposefully get you lost," he adds.

It doesn't exactly add to Remus's calm and quiet front.

 

Then, the haze clears and the boats sweep out of the tunnel, and. Well.  _Wow._

The castle--it  _is_ a castle!--sits on top of a jagged, towering hill, and is lit up magnificently. Tall towers and turrets erupt from all sides and angles, narrow and spindly and yet oh-so-grand. A few battlements and ramparts surround the castle, but it's mostly tall, a skyscraper of sorts, reaching higher than the stars in places. _  
_

In short, it's  _beautiful._

The boats reach the shore without Remus even realizing. He's still staring up at the castle in awe, and only the distant sound of, "Alrigh', follow me!", and Peter tugging at his robes makes him move from his seat on the boat.

Another pang hits Remus's heart, but it has nothing to do with homesickness or fear. It spreads something warm and light around his body, filling him up from the outside in.

He follows the line of first-years up the staircase leading from the boats to the castle. He's still staring straight up at the castle now approaching closer, closer, closer.

When Pink Umbrella Man reaches the giant oak doors at the top of the staircase, he comes to a halt. Remus stands up on his tiptoes, trying to view what was happening.

With his enormous fist, the man raps at the huge oak doors. The sound is so loud that it reverberates around in the night, sticking in Remus's ears. Remus winces a bit, as do the other students.

The oak doors creak open, just as loud as the man's knock. 

A woman steps out. Stern-faced, mouth folded in on itself, she stares at the group of students in front of her with an expression full of something less than disdain but certainly not liking. She turns to the large man with the pink umbrella, and gives him a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you, Hagrid."

Hagrid shrugs and turns around, ambling down the staircase.

Peter gulps beside Remus. "He's not...leaving us alone with her, is he?" he whispers into Remus's ear.

Remus shrugs. His eyes are glued on the strange, stern woman in front of him.

She grins suddenly, and it's a proud sort of thing, the kind that says,  _oh, wait for what I've got in store for you._ It makes Remus's stomach turn, but not  _unpleasantly._

"Well, first-years," she says, turning on her heel abruptly, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

And with that, she walks away, just as abrupt. Her robes click in the wind behind her.

Despite himself, despite his situation, despite his  _everything,_ Remus feels something well up in his abdomen. Liquid excitement.

Without even looking backward or forward, Remus surges forward, keen to follow that strange, abrupt woman into  _Hogwarts._  

 _Hogwarts,_ he thinks again, and it has a final ring to it, a ring that sounds more like home than a home should sound.

_**Hogwarts.** _

 


	2. Year 1: Sirius

Sirius stays quiet after the stupid old hat finished its stupid song.

It was out of character, for him; James was even giving him a  _look,_ despite the fact that they'd met on the platform that morning.

The words of the Sorting were ricocheting uncomfortably around in his ears.  _In Slytherin, we hold those in esteem with cunning and ambition._

He could feel Walburga's hands on his shoulders, too tight and mean to be comforting. He could hear her stupid, nasally voice hiss above the sounds of the train and wizards bustling around:  _You must be a Slytherin, Sirius. I know you are not a fan of our customs...but Sirius, you must listen to me. Slytherin is the right way to go. Choose your family._ _  
_

Sirius stares up at the Great Hall, enchanted to be like stars. They were in the very middle of the gigantic hall. Four long, huge tables stretched on in the hall, two on either side of him. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin.

Sirius turned his head to the Slytherin table. It was adorned with a forest green silk tablecloth, embroidered with glinting silver. Older students sat at the table, necks craned to watch the first-years. He saw Narcissa, her nose scrunched up and eyes cold, her prefect badge shining like her platinum blonde hair. She caught his eye, and nodded at him, high and  _mighty._ Sirius made a face at her.

A girl next to her snickered. Andromeda. Andromeda was actually beautiful, unlike Narcissa's cold prettiness. Brown hair that looked red in the candlelight, a round, heartwarming face, dark laughing eyes. She gave him two thumbs-up, making Narcissa glare even harder.

James jabbed him the back, and Sirius snapped back to reality. McGonagall was standing at the front, holding a large scroll. She stood next to the old, patched gray hat, mouth pursed. "I shall now start reading off the names of first-years. Once called, you will make your way up to the stool, and put on the hat. The hat will then determine what house you belong in. Remember: each house has equal prestige and grandeur, and you are lucky to get any one of them."

"Wait, so that hat decides our future?" James sounds vaguely horrified.

"I know," Sirius says, "Any item of clothing with that level of tone deafness shouldn't be determining  _my_ future."

James looked like he was about to punch Sirius. Sirius gave him a cheeky smile.

"How have I been able to put up with you for nearly six hours?" James groans. 

"Don't worry, I'll be in the Land of Snakes in no time," Sirius says, and if he sounds angry, well, it's not entirely his fault.

James looks at him, and is about to say something, when McGonagall calls out the first name on the list. "Avery, Alice!"

A small girl with yellow hair stumbled up to the stool, shaking a bit. She gripped the ratty brim of the hat with two hands, and forced it on her head.

The hat was quiet for a few beats, and then the rip opened up. "RAVENCLAW!" It roared, and the table to Sirius's left, adorned in dark blue and silver, erupted into cheers. The girl, bemused, walked over in a daze.

"Barton, Haymitch!" 

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Birdie, Ned!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Narcissa almost screamed in pleasure. Andromeda clapped politely, and Ned joined their ranks fast. He had a bit of a weasel face, in Sirius's opinion, but he nodded to Ned.  _All Blacks are Slytherins,_ he thinks, almost glumly. _  
_

"Black, Sirius!"

The hall went near to silent.

Everyone was aware of the Blacks. Of what they did. How powerful the family was. Sirius could feel the eyes following him as he broke away from James and the other first-years to mount the steps to the hat. He was careful not to make any eye contact with anyone as he picked up the hat from the stool, sat down on it, and pulled the hat over his ears.

The first thing that the hat did was  _laugh._

 ** _What?_   **Sirius demanded.  ** _What's so funny?_**

"A Black," the hat's gruff voice says, "that's not a pure Slytherin at all. My, I'd never thought I'd see the day."

Sirius's heart soared.  _ **What?**_

"Well, there's talent and cunning and ambition, no doubt about that," the hat muses, "and one of the sharpest minds I've ever seen. But your courage and bravery...and fierce loyalty. You want to  _prove_ yourself. A bit of a rebel too, I see! No, Slytherin isn't for you."

Sirius gripped the sides of the stool, his mum's words in his head:  _Choose your family. Choose Slytherin. Choose your family._

"Right," the hat says, "never thought I'd see the day--GRYFFINDOR!"

**_Choose your family._ **

Sirius took off the hat and put it on the stool. 

The Gryffindor table was clapping loudly, whistling and smiling and nodding at him.

Sirius risked a glance at the Slytherin table.

Narcissa looked murderous, eyes like brittle ice. Andromeda's smile was soft and almost defiantly proud.

He looked down. Through the sea of first-years, he could see James's head of untidy hair sticking out. He was clapping, loud and fast and proud, never taking his eyes off of Sirius.

Sirius swallowed, and tried to force himself to move over to the Gryffindor table. The clapping died down, but everyone there greeted him with wide, bright smiles.

Sirius sat down at the end of the bench, head spinning.  ** _Choose your family. Choose your family. Choose. Your._**   ** _Family._** **  
**

He could feel Narcissa's glare on him, eating through his bones, chewing out his heart. He didn't turn around.

***

The feast was absolutely splendid, and even if he didn't feel much like stuffing his face, he did so anyway because  _treacle tart._

James was sitting next to him, glasses slightly askew, mouth tired from laughing. He'd been trying to keep up a conversation with the redhead that had been on the boat with them (Lily Something-Or-Other), but she didn't seem all too interested. She was staring across the hall, to the Slytherin table. Her friend with the greasy hair had been put in that house, and she kept trying to make eye contact with him. From the lost expression on her face, Sirius thought that she wasn't making too much progress.

"So, you're a Black?" James said, breaking off from another failed attempt to talk to Lily.

Sirius wiped his mouth and shrugged. "Not anymore, I'm not," he said easily.

James gave him a weird look. "What?"

"Eh, I'll probably be disowned for not being obsessed with the Dark Arts and supremacy," Sirius said lightly.

"Seriously?" James asked.

"Was that an actual question or were you just making a terrible pun?"

James eyed him. "No, but will you actually?"

"Probably," Sirius said. "I'm fine with that, really. Mum never made cookies well, anyway."

James let a huff escape, part-laugh, part-disbelief. "You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm not ridiculous, I'm Sirius. You're James."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too, you wanna be best friends?" Sirius held out a mock hand.

James shook it solemnly. "As long as you make my life a living hell," he joked.

"Ah, James. You don't get it. We shan't make each other's lives a living hell; we will make everyone else's lives a living hell," Sirius said.

"Perfect. I solemnly swear I will never be up to any good."

Sirius grinned at him, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in the way that his mother never liked. James just  _laughed,_ and Sirius thought that maybe Gryffindor wouldn't be filled with a bunch of losers after all. Or maybe just a really arrogant loser that Sirius liked, which was fine too.

***

The Gryffindor dormitory was comfortable and smelled like cinnamon, and Sirius still couldn't sleep in it.

The light cotton sheets were pooled around his body, and the deep red canopy was highlighted by the moonlight outside. Sirius stared up at it, studying its creases like it was the most interesting item in the world.

Walburga would not be pleased. Neither would Orion, for that matter. He knew that Narcissa had probably sent an owl already, spreading the news that Sirius was as good as a traitor to the Black family now.

Being sorted in any other house was treason in their book, but  _Gryffindor..._ he knew that Howlers were making their way to him already, bursting with insults and angry, harsh words.

And he'd have to go home eventually, to them, to that...

Sirius sat up, and ran his hand through his hair; this was bad. Really, really bad.

He couldn't find it in himself to be sorry, either, which was also probably bad.

"Are you alright?"

Sirius turned to the voice, eyebrows furrowed.

Sitting on the windowsill was a small boy, wearing patched pajamas that were too big on him. He had sandy brown hair, and scars scraped across his face, red and deep yet puckered, as if they'd been there a while.

"Are you alright?" The boy repeated, staring at him.

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

The boy squinted at him. "You're the Black, right?" He asked quietly.

"Um, I mean, yeah," Sirius said slowly. "Who are you, Mr. Scarry McScars?"

The boy looked startled. Then, he stared at Sirius. He started laughing, quietly, sweetly. It was cute, kind of, in Sirius's opinion. "I'm Remus Lupin."

Sirius nodded again. "Well, I'm Sirius, so you can stop calling me 'Black', now. Kind of racist, if you ask me."

"Really, though," Remus said, "Are you okay? You looked kind of troubled earlier."

Sirius bit his lip. "Fine," he said. "What are you doing up?"

Remus shrugged. "Missed home. D'you want some chocolate?"

Sirius stared at him. "What?"

"Surely you've heard of chocolate? Unless you're dafter than I thought," Remus mused.

"Excuse you," Sirius said, "I'm plenty smart. Kind of. A bit. Shut up. Point is, I know what chocolate is, but why are you offering it to me near midnight?"

Remus shrugged again. "Chocolate makes me always feel better. You look kind of lonely."

Sirius paused. He didn't really know how to respond to that, so he just said, rather intelligently, "What?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Here, let me say it in your language: Me have chocolate. You want chocolate?"

Sirius laughed. "Me want chocolate, very yes!"

Remus laughed, but got up anyway. He padded over to his bed, and unlocked his trunk. He pulled out a large bar of chocolate, and moved over to Sirius's bed. "Mind if I, you know, sit?" Remus asked. He sounded almost  _bashful._

Sirius moved over, and broke off a large chunk of chocolate from the bar. "Hey!" Remus protested.

"Well, you're the one who offered it to me," Sirius reasoned.

"Not to  _steal,_ " Remus muttered.

Sirius chucked the chocolate at Remus's head. 

"Hey!" He said, louder this time.

A bundle of blankets shifted next to Sirius's bed, and let out a soft groan. "Sirius, what're you doin?" A sleepy James slurred out.

"Trying to take a gift Remus offered to me, then revoked," Sirius pouted.

James shot up. "What gift?"

Remus sighed. "I hate you," he said to Sirius.

"Join the club," James said.

Sirius just smiled obnoxiously at both of them, and stole another chunk of Remus's chocolate.

 

Maybe Gryffindor wouldn't be  _so_ bad.

 


	3. Year 1: James

When Sirius gets three Howlers at breakfast the next morning, it seems like he already expected it.

James watches him, concerned, as Sirius tears open all three at once. His face is closed and pinched as three voices screech across the dining hall, interrupting and screaming over each other.

 

"HOW DARE YOU--"

_**"OF ALL THE TREACHEROUS THINGS TO DO--"** _

**"HOW DARE YOU BETRAY YOUR FAMILY LIKE THAT--"  
**

"MADE YOUR MOTHER _CRY_ \--"

**"WHAT KIND OF EXAMPLE ARE YOU SETTING FOR YOUR BROTHER?!!!!"**

_**"--NOT MY GRANDSON**_ _**ANYMORE."**_

 

Sirius's face becomes calculatedly blank as the last letter puffs out, sprinkling paper confetti across the Gryffindor Table. 

James risks a glance around, and--yeah, everyone's staring at them. At Sirius.

 

Sirius stares at his bowl of oatmeal, now covered in white paper shreds. He frowns at it. "They totally ruined this," he says, sounding almost  _mockingly_ sad. "I mean, like, they sent Howlers and all, but they could have at least had the consideration to spare my breakfast. Unbelievable."

James makes himself laugh at that, for Sirius's benefit.

Sirius beams at him.

Remus, the boy with the scars from last night, clears his throat. "Sirius, are you--"

"I, for one," James says, completely interrupting Remus, "think that the fact that they ruined your oatmeal was really for your benefit. I mean, come on, who likes oatmeal?"

"Wha--oh my god," Sirius says. "I just. I can't. Remus, help. I can't deal with this kind of heresy."

Remus frowns. "Um, it's just oatmeal," he says. "I don't see what the big deal is--"

"What, so you're joining this traitor then?" Sirius groans. "I am alone in life. The world wants to watch me suffer."

 

"W-well, I like oatmeal," another boy suddenly pipes up. He's kind of pudgy, with a very pointed nose, but his eyes are wide and eager, and James sees Remus smile encouragingly at him.

Sirius points dramatically at him. "See?" he says loudly. "This boy has sense! What's your name?"

"Peter," he says. "Peter Pettigrew."

"Peter Pettigrew is my new best friend," Sirius declares. "I don't need you two anymore."

"You've known me a day," Remus chips in. "I don't think that really qualifies as being a 'best friend' in the first place--"

" _How dare you,_ " James gasps. "This--this is--I can't. My heart is broken. I am alone. I will die alone, all because I don't like a breakfast dish."

Sirius shrugs. "You don't like oatmeal, and I don't like you."

"Well, I don't like you either."

"Please," Sirius says. "You like me so much, when you cast a Patronus it's just my _face._ "

"How do you know my Patronus better than I do?"

"Because you're in love with me."

"That's awfully illogical--"

 

Remus throws his head onto the table. "This is going to be a horrible seven years," James hears him mutter.

He takes that as a win.

***

James is in love.

 

She's _stunning._

Her hair's a fiery orange, the blinding color of sunsets, and it cascades down her back like a waterfall. Her skin is creamy and smooth, and her bright green eyes are wonderfully piercing. She has a harsh tongue and carries a book around with her everywhere, and the moment she'd looked at him down by the lake and said, "Severus and I need to take a boat with _someone,_ so budge over," James knew she was the One.

Her name was Lily, and she was more perfect than the flower. Lily Evans.

Her name sounded like a lullaby, or a strong love-spell.

 

And Lily Evans hates his guts.

 

He really doesn't know what he did--sure, he'd lightly teased her friend on the boat, the boy with greasy hair and a hook nose, but it wasn't _mean,_ or anything. And it might convince the boy to give shampoo a try, and really that wouldn't hurt anyone.

Besides, her friend had gotten sorted into Slytherin. He had it coming. Preemptively.

 

When they go to their first-ever class, Charms, he offers to sit next to her. He knew quite a few tricks up his sleeve, coming from a family of magic, and she seemed sharp as a tack, which would make everything easier.

 

"No," she says, without even looking up from her book.

James...is confused. "No?" he asks.

"No," she says. "You seem like a bully, and I have no interest in talking to someone like that."

"I seem like a bully?"

"Yes," she says.

"What does that even _mean?_ "

"It means," she says, sitting up and snapping her book shut, "that you mercilessly harassed my friend, and then made derogatory comments toward the Slytherin House, which he was then sorted into. I don't need you to drag me down in the process of you becoming an asshat. I quite like myself, and I refuse to get corrupted by the likes of you."

James makes a face, and opens his mouth to argue, but she just opens her book and pretends he's not there.

Defeated, he makes his way over to Sirius and slumps in the seat next to him.

 

"That was brutal," Sirius comments.

"She's amazing," James says.

"She literally shut you down and sent you packing."

" _Lily Potter_ has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, Sirius?"

Sirius just shakes his head and puts his feet up on the desk. "Day two and you think you're in love, mate," Sirius says. "You're a special kind of person."

"Thank you," James says, feeling quite pleased with himself.

***

After the Charms class--which he and Sirius aced flawlessly--he sees Remus chatting amicably to Lily Evans.

 

James is mystified.

 

After Lily drifts off, joining another girl with curly blonde hair (James thinks her name is Marlene), James immediately runs over.

 

"How'd you--what-- _her_ \--?" James asks breathlessly, coming to a halt.

Remus frowns. "Um. What?"

"Lily," he gasps out. "How did you talk to her?"

"Lily?" Remus asks. He still sounds confused, and James wants to throttle him.

"She was sitting next to our desks," Peter pipes up from beside Remus. James hadn't even noticed he was there. "She's a lovely person. Helped me get that one spell--the one with levitation? I kept saying it wrong--"

"I--what?" James asks. "What?"

"James, are you quite alright?" Remus asks. His face is puckered up in a concerned expression.

And that's when Sirius lopes over, draping an arm over James. "It seems like James has fallen in love with her," Sirius says. "And she thinks he's the worst person she's ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Well, she never _said_ that--"

"Is that why she was glaring over in your direction?" Peter asks, looking thoughtful. "I figured she really hated that poster of Quidditch. My mum says it's a horrible sport to play."

"Wait, how could you not love Quidditch?" Sirius asks. "It's, like, _the_ wizard sport. Everyone loves it."

"Not my mum," Peter says.

 

"Wait," Remus says, holding up a finger. "How can you fall in love with someone in a _day_ _?_ "

"We all became best friends in a day," Sirius supplies. "And Cinderella fell in love by dancing with a prince at a ball. That's _less_ than a day."

"No, we didn't," Remus says. "And--wait, how do you know about Disney movies?"

Sirius shrugs. "My family hates anything Muggle-like," he says, like that explains everything. "And, Remmy, are you saying you don't love us?" he pouts against James's shoulder.

"I never said I didn't _love_ you. I just don't see how I could, since I've only known you a day."

"Well, I've only known Lily a day, and I'm going to marry her," James says firmly.

"Jesus Christ," Remus mutters.

"Can I be your best man?" Sirius asks.

"I'd offer to cater, but mum doesn't let me in the kitchen unless I'm with an adult," Peter comments.

 

James just laughs, because deep down, he _knows._

 

He _knows_ that Lily Evans is going to marry him.

And 'Lily Potter' has a much better ring to it than 'Lily Snape', by _far._

 


	4. Year 1: Peter

Peter was awful at making friends.

 

When he was little, other children just inherently didn't like him. It was either that he was too chubby, or too timid, or he was trying too hard or that he was too cruel.

His mother was always bothered by this. He thought that perhaps she was worried about him, or maybe she was just worried what Peter's social ineptitude would do to her reputation with the other parents in the neighborhood. Sometimes she would set up mandatory play-dates for him, which always turned out to be incredibly awkward and humiliating.

So as time went by, Peter became much more introverted and quiet. Sometimes it seemed like even his mother didn't enjoy being around him very much (although, to be fair, she never seemed to enjoy anyone's company) and as a result he learned to self-entertain. Primary school was usually horrible, and his only consolation was the promise of Hogwarts when he turned eleven.

 

Even Hogwarts wasn't guaranteed, though. Accidental magic was always the tell-tale sign of magical abilities within a child, and Peter never displayed any sort of talent. Sometimes, he even attempted to pressure himself into doing some sort of magic, which always ended up awfully. After Peter broke his ankle jumping off the roof of their cottage at the age of ten, his mother put her foot down and sat Peter down for a chat.

"Peter," she had said to him primly, smoothing out her skirts, "I think it's time that you entertain the possibility of you, ah...well, you being a Squib."

Peter had stared at her as if she just told him they were having Brussels Sprouts for dinner with only water. "Mum," he said, "I'm a wizard."

Peter remembers her wringing her hands out on her skirts and pushing her feathery gray hair out of her eyes. "Honey," she said, uncharacteristically sweet, "I...I haven't seen anything to prove otherwise, and...the other mothers have warned me about this. I just don't think--"

"No, Mum," Peter said suddenly, standing up. "I have magic. You _know_ that I do! I'll--I'll prove you wrong! I'm going to Hogwarts next year, and you won't be able to stop me!"

His mother just stared at him with pity in her eyes. Peter's stomach churned unpleasantly, and a prickling of doubt tickled the edges of his mind.

But he wouldn't allow it. He _wouldn't._ So instead he just got up and said, "I'll prove you wrong!" and tried to storm out. It didn't work out too well with his broken ankle, so instead it turns out as more of a pathetic limp.

***

But he did prove her wrong.

And he proved himself wrong, so he's feeling even better about himself.

 

He managed to make three new friends, _and_ have magic. It makes him so happy, it doesn't really matter that he forced himself on Remus in the first place, or that his magic isn't particularly strong. Because he has _friends,_ and Sirius and James are somewhat popular, too.

His mum isn't too thrilled about him being friends with a member of the Black family, though. Peter remembers hearing about them even before he got to Hogwarts: whispers about how deeply involved with dark magic they were, about their hatred for Muggles and muggleborns. This obviously didn't sit well with his mum, who was a muggleborn herself.

Peter _had_ tried to argue on Sirius's behalf. In one of his many letters to her, he'd said (quite convincingly) that since Sirius was a Gryffindor _and_ hated his cousins _and_ constantly teased Lily Evans amicably despite her blood status, he must be a half-decent human being. In her corresponding letter, however, his mother just railed against Gryffindors ( _pompous gits, the lot of them--no offense to you, dear)_ and warned Peter against getting involved in any of the dark arts. _'People who fool with the dark arts_ _never have any happy endings, son,'_ she'd written. _'Mark my words.'_

Peter thought that this was extreme of her. Not only was Sirius as far from the dark arts as one could get, Peter knew better than going dark. And he was a first-year, after all. There was plenty of time for worry when he was a rebellious teenager, as far as he was concerned.

***

At the end of September, Remus told Peter, James, and Sirius that he was leaving Hogwarts for a few days.

 

Sirius seems to deflate immediately, muttering something about stink bombs that wouldn't work well "without his top infiltrator", and James starts pouting. Remus shifts in his seat uncomfortably, and rubs at his wrists.

Peter frowns. "Are you alright, Remus?" he asks. "Why are you leaving in the first place, anyway?"

Remus smiles, but it's strained. "My mum's sick," he says quietly. "My dad needs someone to help take care of her, and even though it doesn't seem too serious considering, he thought that I'd might want to be around her."

Peter doesn't know what to do with that. Pity seems like the obvious choice, but Remus might not like that, but if he made light of the situation Remus might dislike that as well, and--

 

James says, "Oh, mate, that sucks," with a wince in his voice.

"If there's anything you need..." Sirius tacks on, rubbing Remus on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Peter echoes, feeling awfully out of his depth. "Whatever you might need."

Remus smiles at them thinly, and excuses himself to go upstairs with a short, "Thank you guys."

 

Peter finds Remus's response a bit weird, but brushes it off and tries to focus on his Potions homework.

***

Remus is gone the next morning. His trunk is still sitting at the end of his bed, neatly packed the way he always left it, but the fact that Remus was going to be gone for three whole days suddenly dawned on Peter, really and truly.

Remus was like Peter's safety blanket. Without Remus Lupin, how was he supposed to interact with James Potter and Sirius Black?

Those two were already thick as thieves, less than a month in. Peter was going to be a third wheel at _best._

He felt his heart fall just a bit, and opened himself up to the idea of an awkward three days without Remus. Hopefully his mother would recover sooner than expected, but that was pretty unlikely, if Remus's expression while talking about it had been any indication.

 

Peter pushes himself up out of bed, and quickly changes into his school robes. James and Sirius were always late risers, and that would work in Peter's favor, this time around.

 

He heads down to the library first, not that he has any real purpose in going there. Most books tended to bore him, but the head librarian (a stern woman with puckered lips and tightly wound silver hair) was giving him suspicious side-eyes, so Peter ducks into the stacks and putters around a little bit.

He mindlessly pulls books off the shelves and flicks through them, before finally settling down at a table already covered in copious amounts of texts. He picks one up on a whim, and flips to a random page.

At the top, in calligraphic writing, reads: " _The Origins and Effects of the Drink of Despair"._

 

Heart suddenly beating loudly in Peter's ears, he flips to another random page. This one says, in tall, stilted letters: " _The Cruciatus Curse"._

It was a book on Dark Magic.

This should be in the Restricted Section.

 

Peter should probably return it to the Restricted Section.

 

Yet...there was something intriguing about the Dark Arts.

Not in the way that he wanted to practice it. It was more along the lines of watching a train wreck, or reading about serial killers in the newspapers. That man who called himself Voldemort was particularly interesting, and the Daily Prophet seemed to agree with Peter from how much material was published about him.

 

Peter would never be able to check the book out, though. It was obviously only accessible with permission, and Peter wouldn't get any because he didn't have a good reason for taking the book. He was pretty sure that saying he wanted the book out of pure interest would raise some red flags.

Unless...

Peter was a plump boy. Everyone knew that, including himself. He wasn't very pleasant to look at, but perhaps this could actually work in his favor.

The book wasn't particularly thick or big.

 

Without thinking about it too hard, Peter stuffs the book in between his belly and sweater, rearranges his robes to cover the added bulge, and wraps his arms around himself.

 

He was out of the library with a quick goodbye to the librarian (still glaring at him with a suspicious gleam in her eye), and he raced back down the hall to the Portrait Hole as quick as possible.

Peter still wasn't quite sure why he wanted the book on the Dark Arts. Why he'd gone to so much trouble.

But, then again, he'd gone to this much trouble. He might as well just read the book at this point.

***

Peter feels oddly nervous by the time he gets down to breakfast.

Well, it really isn't odd at all, but that doesn't make him feel any better. Peter knew for a fact that he was below the social level that James and Sirius were already operating at.

Peter was chubby and ugly and looked a bit like a rodent and second-guessed himself all the time and never knew what to say and had just recently smuggled a book on the Dark Arts out of the library. James and Sirius were fit and active and mischievous and had these kinds of laughs that just convinced you that they were the confident sort of people.

When he gets down to the Great Hall, James and Sirius are already sitting at their regular seats. James is buttering his toast and smiling at something Sirius is saying, and they look like they're straight out of one of those goddamn Muggle movies Peter's mother loved watching.

Peter swallows nervously, and wonders if he just shouldn't sit with Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans. They were friendly girls, and Marlene smiled plenty and had really nice teeth and clean hair.

He's about to take a seat next to them when James calls out, "Peter! What are you doing?"

Peter blushes right down to the roots of his hair. "C'mon!" James says, gesturing over.

 

Peter bites the inside of his cheek, and counts to ten. Then, slowly, he makes his way over to Sirius and James.

"Um," Peter says, trying to think of a viable reason to be avoiding the two of them.

Sirius waves Peter off. "Okay," he says, "so, since Remus is gone, I was thinking that you, me and James could do this prank..."

James rolls his eyes. "It's completely impossible," he says to Peter. "I've tried telling him that."

 

Peter just grins and reaches for a piece of toast and some jam.

He might not know them as well as they know each other, but one thing is for sure: James Potter and Sirius Black are Peter Pettigrew's friends.

And Hogwarts might just be everything that Peter thought it would be after all.


End file.
